SANDWICHES

   At noon, the last vestiges of her breakfast long gone, she decides it's time for lunch. Nessie stretches on her toes to peer into the painted white cabinets above the green veined counter in her kitchen. She wanders over to the fridge and peeks inside. 

  "Hmmm...That's it! I'll make a sandwich." 

  She gathers all the things she'll need, not unlike an artist in preparation of the masterpiece to come. Bread will be her canvas, holding layers painted, squirted and assembled. She paints one side of the bread with mayonnaise, a creamy off-white background to begin. Setting aside one slice, to the other she blends in mustard, effectually adding a spicy flare of color to her work. A dash of Tabasco adds a hint of tangy warmth to the whole. Now for the subject, pale, thin slices of hickory smoked ham, generously applied. Setting the lonely, painted slice atop all the rest, she gives her work a final appreciative glance. 

  With the scent of meat and condiments fresh in the air, she raises her sandwich to her mouth and begins a journey down the path behind her grandparents back yard, through the thick vegetation, to the sandy creek beyond. The bright midday sun warms her head and shoulders, the hot sand beneath her bare feet scorches. She runs across the little beach and into the creek. The water is cool against her skin. Though the water is only ankle deep, because it flows from an underground source in the hillside it is impervious to the warmth imparted by the sun. Stretched out before her as far as she can see is the gently flowing creek. The off-white grains of sand of the bed beneath the clear water tumble with carefree abandon. 

  She walks for hours, until the sun reaches it's apex in the sky. Then she settles down with the sandwich she brought along with her, right there in the water, and begins her journey anew.

unpublished © 2013 JP West